


if you're not made for me, why did we fall in love

by writingwords



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of death and grief, Soulmates, like almost 10k of just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwords/pseuds/writingwords
Summary: Soulmate AU where their name appears on your ring finger on your 12th birthdaybased on the quoteIf soulmates do exist, they're not found, they're made.from the show The Good Place
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell, Callum ''Halfway'' Highway/Chris Kennedy, Paul Coker/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	if you're not made for me, why did we fall in love

**Author's Note:**

> "hey shouldn't you be updating your other thing?" shhhhhh, writer's block is a bitch  
> that and i literally couldn't sit still until i finished this (so yes its probably got a billion errors from me not spending too much time editing it), tysm for clicking and please enjoy & feel free to criticise in the comments xx
> 
> the title is from a song called [Fear of the Water - SYML](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53eGMwYWXX4) and I also listened to [Cruel Summer - Taylor Swift; ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRwy8FyH8ik) [ Capsize - FRENSHIP, Emily Warren; ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBC58KeR9cs) [ American Money - BøRNS ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABFz2Qag6Dw) while writing this
> 
> tw: does mention Paul's death and Ben dealing with it and that could be potentially upsetting, also some mention of self harm but nothing more extreme than what is shown on the tv show itself

Valentine’s Day sucks more than most days.

There’s no need to be reminded you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone.

But the assortment of heart shaped balloons and heart shaped chocolates and heart shaped everythings glare at Ben no matter where he turns. Jeer at him because he’s got no use for them.

How could he, when he’s lost everything?

Honey hastily switches off the love songs when he strolls into the Minute Mart. Subtle as a brick. He avoids the sympathy in her eyes when he pays for a bottle of vodka.

Ordinarily, he would’ve gone to E20 to drown his sorrows but he recently learned that Billy’s been instructed to keep an eye on him should he turn up, and the man’s dutiful if nothing else.

He hides in Coker’s.

Drinks to forget his first time was upstairs. Forget it all. Doesn’t work.

He scratches the four letters on his ring finger. Thinks it would have been better if he never met his soulmate rather than know what it’s like to be so close to happiness and have it slip through his fingers.

It’s fading now. The cursive on his skin. Gradually, imperceptibly, inevitably. Once a soulmate dies, their name goes with them too.

It’s okay. Ben doesn’t need ink to remember curly hair and brown eyes. Already hears his voice in all his dreams. Whispered confessions of love sometimes. Screams of despair mostly.

It’s everyone else who’ll be the problem. When they’ll spot his ring finger, void of a name, and tell their friends in hushed tones _that’s him, that’s the poor bloke whose soulmate died._

He’s seen the people he’s going to turn into. They are easy going for the most part, but no smile reaches their eyes and each laugh comes out forced. He has to repeat to himself how lucky he is to have love in other ways.

In Jay, lending him his office. In Lola, making him his favourite breakfast. In Lexi, promising him 100 hugs.

People who will let him grieve but never stew in his remorse long enough that he becomes so bitter that he’s not Ben anymore.

Even if he’ll never be the Ben that he used to be.

He finds his head band in a drawer. Unclasps it and holds it like it’s his most precious possession. It probably is.

He wonders if he will always feel like this. Abandoned. His skin itching and gasping to belong to someone, lump in his throat when he tries to say his name. _Him,_ who’s gone and took Ben’s heart with him, leaving it hollow in his chest.

It’s quiet, aside from the alcohol buzzing in his skull, and he replays everything.

He’s remembering _this tan is all over_ and then he’s remembering the tan being all over and then there’s a crash from the other room and a string of curses.

First, it’s surprise, that he’s not the only one in the parlour, before it becomes anger.

How dare someone intrude on him? Is it too much to be left alone? Why can’t he be afforded the one thing he asks for?

He’s flinging the door open to a broken urn and a guy on the floor whose face hides behind brown hair.

“Sorry,” he stutters, picking up the pieces, “Just wanted to get some flowers.”

“From here? For Valentine’s? Proper romantic, that, ain’t it?.” He spits, clenching his fists to ground himself. “The market’s only down the road mate. What? Too much effort?”

He’s sneering and cruel in his gaze and gearing up to say more because it seems like everyone is ready to take more of his time with Paul away from him and he can’t stand it.

They guy stops, just stops, and hurls the fragments in his hands onto the floor. He grips the table to help himself up.

Ben sees a faded name on his ring finger.

Idiot.

Why else would someone be getting flowers from a funeral parlour?

The anger dissipates as fast as it had flared up in his chest.

Simmers off the guy who’s so tall he’s towering above him.

There’s an apology on his tongue he can’t manage to say, standing there meekly while he grabs a bouquet of something pink and yellow and slams the door shut on the way out.

Jay finds Ben crouched, cleaning up the pieces of the urn, stony faced.

The forecast said it would get warmer since it’s supposed to be Spring soon.

Ben crosses his arms to preserve some body heat.

Lexi’s shouting _Look what I can do,_ face pink from cold and excitement as she stands on the swings and pushes herself forwards and back.

He can have this. Snippets of happiness to keep him going. He doesn’t need more.

A guy walks past the playground, brown hair gelled in a quiff.

No. _The_ guy.

Something bitter tries to climb up Ben’s gullet and he has to shove it down if he wants to enjoy the rest of his day with Lexi.

He sees him again at his mum’s café. He marches past looking through Ben rather than at him.

“You know who that was, Marie?”

“Army mate of the Carters. Works at the Vic when he’s on leave.”

“He on leave long?”

“Yeah.” She looks around conspiratorially. “Got hurt saving a kid. He can’t go back for months.”

Ben makes it a point to avoid the Vic as much as possible, for both their sakes.

He manages it for a week and a handful of days before Lola’s dragging him by his arm because _It’s your birthday, course we’re gonna do something._

Jay assures him it’s just a quiet round of drinks.

“Do it for Lola,” He puts his hand on his shoulder, beseeching, “She’s worried about ya.”

There’s an insinuation in there that Ben doesn’t like to face. That he’s always worrying someone. Always a burden. Always needing to be taken care of.

He’s annoyed because they’re wrong. If there’s one thing Ben Mitchell _isn’t,_ it’s someone’s pity project.

But he realised a while ago that playing along is the best way to get them off his back.

He puts on a brave face and does his best to convince Lola that she’s cheered him up.

It must work because she beams at him when she says, “Get the next round in, birthday boy.”

He trains his eyes not to stare at the hand she keeps twirling in her hair, the _Jay_ dancing on her finger.

He drums a nervous beat on the bar when he reaches it, although it does nothing to quell the uneasiness in his stomach as he looks around to make sure their army mate isn’t working a shift.

He tries to tell Mick his order, but Ollie’s screaming from the stairway, and his _two more pints_ is drowned out. “Halfway, sort Ben, would ya?”

The door of the barrel store creaks open.

Something heavy sets in his chest when he meets his eyes. They’re clouded over and murky blue.

“What can I get ya?”

Ben swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not.”

The guy shakes his head, hair flopping, as he pours a pint. “It is. What else?”

“Vodka and coke.”

He serves Ben.

Ben still laughs in all the right places, doesn’t stop ribbing Jay every chance he gets, and gives Lola a long hug when the night’s over. Eyes scorch the back of his head the entire time. But when he glances at the bar, the guy’s not looking at him.

Jay nudges him when Lola’s on the phone. “What were you staring at Callum for?”

It’s not accusing but it is invasive.

“Eh?”

“Bar-boy? Saw you looking over the whole night.” He puts his collar up as the Vic door shuts behind them.

He shrugs, not finding it in him to deny or explain anything.

Jay leaves it.

Ian gives him jam on toast.

“I asked for marmite.”

“April Fools!”

Ben asks God to give him strength. Stalks out the house; he’ll eat at the caff.

Doesn’t get far because the guy’s sat on a bench opposite his house.

What did Jay say his name was?

Doesn’t matter. Ben should leave him alone. Stay far away before he makes things worse.

Before he ruins someone else.

The guy’s eyes don’t even move from where they’re fixed on Bailey collecting litter when Ben reaches him, hands in pockets so no one can see them shaking.

He sits down. Probably should have asked first.

“Let me apologise properly. Please.”

“It don’t matter.”

“It _does._ What I said. About the flowers, it was stupid.” He takes a deep breath, hazarding a look at the guy, who’s rubbing his ring finger, greying ink and he can make out a _C._

Ben’s carrying on before he can decide not to. “I am so messed up. And I took it out on you.” He absentmindedly puts his hand on his knee. “That weren’t right. I’m sorry.” The guy glances at the fading _Paul_.

Ben snaps his hand away.

He finally meets Ben’s eyes and huffs. One of his shoulders lifts, “Everyone’s a little messed up really.”

“But I shouldn’t have said it.”

The guy attempts a smile, “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

He gives a brief nod and a weight leaves Ben’s shoulders.

There’s a long silence, and Ben could have left and gotten breakfast but something about being sat here is calming.

Something’s got to break it though, and it’s Ben’s stomach.

There’s a paper bag next to the guy that Ben hadn’t noticed but now he’s being offered it. Doughnuts.

“Thanks.”

He leaves the bag open in the middle of them and the two finish it. Ben doesn’t feel anything when his hand brushes against his as they reach for the last one.

He lets him have it. Watches him lick the remaining sugar off his index finger.

He imagines Jay making fun of him. _What you staring at Callum for?_

“Callum!”

His eyebrows furrow, “Yeah?”

“That’s your name. Callum.” He could kick himself for being so uncool.

He quirks his lip, “Yeah.” Ben grimaces internally. “What’s yours?”

“Ben.”

Callum nods, mouth still turned up, getting up to throw away the bag.

To his credit, he looks guilty when he implies he has to go.

“See you around Ben.”

Ben tucks his chin into his coat to hide his smile.

There’s not much else for a long time. Ben sees him sometimes, looking far away, thumb rubbing his ring finger.

But it’s none of his business.

He thinks they could be called acquaintances. They make small talk when they bump into each other at the Vic but nothing more.

Ben’s not foolish enough to initiate any conversation.

There isn’t a lot to do in Walford so he decides to take Lexi to the theatre. They’re showing Aladdin all May.

She says she’s going to be sick as the tannoy announces they’re at Liverpool Street. They have to dash from the platform to the station toilets, Ben’s frantic voice telling her not to unload on the busker.

He’s assuring her she’s got nothing to be embarrassed about when he walks into Callum’s shoulder.

“Alright?”

Lexi’s lip wobbles and Callum’s terrified when she looks like she’s going to burst into tears at his question.

“Lexi’s just been a bit sick, ain’t ya princess?” She nods, burying her face into his side, arms around his waist.

Ben checks his watch, there’s a train in twelve minutes they can get back home but he doesn’t want to risk Lexi throwing up again.

They could get a taxi, or a bus, or maybe a bite to eat to settle her stomach so she can brave the tube again.

His mind is running through the pros and cons of each option when Callum crouches down to her level.

He’d expected him to have left by now.

“You know what I have when I’m sick?”

Lexi rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffing. Ben feels her shake her head from the side of his stomach.

He leans in and whispers, “I have a lollipop.” He pulls one out of his pocket, “But only if my dad says it’s okay.”

“You’re too old to listen to your daddy.” She points out.

“Lexi!”

“No you always have to listen to your dad. Ain’t that right?” He grins up at Ben but his mouth’s gone dry and he can only nod dumbly.

“Dad, can I have a lollipop please?” Lexi and Callum have equally convincing puppy dog eyes.

He’s helpless to tell her no, really.

They end up sitting on the steps outside the station. The arch hangs over them, providing some shade from the sun, Lexi pointing out the various colours of cars driving past.

“Callum, what’s your favourite colour?”

He taps his chin in serious thought, “I have one, but I bet you can’t guess.”

“Bet I can.”

“Bet you can’t.”

“I’ll bet my lollipop.” She says confidently, making both men either side of her laugh. “Is it…?”

She hesitates, throwing her dad a worried glance as if she’s only now realised what’s at stake.

Ben mouths blue.

Lexi squeals when she gets it right, not that she’d get it wrong of course.

Callum gets a big hug when he has to go catch his train.

Ben’s got a sneaking suspicion he’s already late to wherever he’s going. A weird thought forms in his head asking Callum not to go just yet.

“You’re back early.” Lola notes, jumping off Jay.

Lexi’s oblivious as she chatters about the lollipop, side of her mouth sticky.

“That’s nice. I hope you said thank you.” Ben looks away sheepishly.

He finds him the next day behind the bar, asks for a pint. Downs it before he can get his words out.

“Thank you for yesterday. Means a lot.”

He shrugs, staring at his own feet, “Just a lollipop.”

He turns to serve Ted and Patrick, smile playing on his face when he thinks Ben’s stopped looking.

It’s panicking Ben because he can’t stop looking.

He stays for another pint.

“So, what you got lollipops in your pocket for in the first place?”

_Please don’t be a creep. Please don’t be a creep. Please don’t be a creep._

He laughs, “Don’t worry, I ain’t a creep. I was visiting a friend, she’s got a kid who’s crazy for ‘em.”

“There’s some dentist in East London who’s got a bone to pick with you.”

He laughs again.

Ben thinks it’s nice that he can make people laugh, that he can make jokes, that there’s more to his personality than being the man with the dead soulmate.

He would stay for another drink but they’re a mechanic down at the Arches and he’s got no choice.

He considers giving Callum his number.

Firmly decides against it.

There’s a weight on his shoulders. There always is this month. The edges of his tattoo are ashen and light grey.

He thought he didn’t mind it dimming but there’s a sense of watching your body lose a part of itself, literally, that Ben’s not ready to deal with.

Pam sends him a card. He bins it. Tells Jay to text her a thank you on his behalf. He’d switched his phone off days ago.

Billy’s not working today so he sits in a booth in E20, making lewd comments at the group of aggressively straight guys opposite him, gulping down whiskey like he can’t live without it.

“Get these lads some pinas, won’t ya, Willie?” He shouts across to the barman. He’s not sure his name is Willie. One of the men slam their palm on the table.

He ends up bloodied and beaten, stumbling to the car lot, dropping his keys on the ground in front of him.

His vision shrouded by the stars and spots that come with a couple of well-aimed punches to the face.

“Ben?”

It’s him. Ben’s not sure he’s surprised.

He hurries forward to pick up his keys, helping Ben to the row of seats, rushing to find the first aid kit.

Ben’s eyes shut involuntarily when Callum tilts his chin forward, kneeling in front of him.

It’s not something he recognises straight away, but Callum’s fingertips are gentle with him.

Gentle when they clean his cuts. Gentle when they press ice packs to his bruises. Gentle when they fall from his face and brush his leg to reach for the antiseptic.

Gentle isn’t something he feels anymore.

Not when he’s diving into scrapes or fighting against his family’s attempts to get him to open up or inside of him.

Especially not inside of him.

There’s a thrashing in his chest. A constant drilling where his heart refuses to give him peace. It leaves his head heavy with crushing grief that no one could ever understand.

“Better?” Callum whispers. Ben watches as he puts away the bandage, his dried blood on it. He dreads to think of the state of his face.

He reaches for the side of Ben’s jaw. “You gotta be careful.” A charcoal _Ch_ catches Ben’s eye.

Maybe he could understand.

“Three years this week.” His eyelids close.

He doesn’t say anymore. He doesn’t have to.

Callum rests his forehead against Ben’s. His thumb grazes the skin under the cut on his cheekbone.

It’s slow. Careful. Gentle.

The thrashing subsides.

He sleeps in the car lot that night, he can’t let Lexi see him like this, and manages to get some shut eye for a bit more than an hour. It’s the best he’s gotten all month.

Sometime later, Callum’s sitting on the kids’ swings holding a lager.

He makes a move to go thank him. It’s all he does these days.

He stops in his tracks.

Once, twice, three times. Then thrice more his eyes follow the way the bottle ricochets against his leg.

There’s a crash when he throws it to the side and rubs a hand over his face.

Ben doesn’t know if he can help. Or if he should.

Callum clenches his left fist. Rubs his ring finger with his other hand.

Ben gets it. It’s something he carries around too. So he goes to sit next to him.

Swings back and forth in the rain with Callum.

Maybe they can be friends. Find some common ground in a deranged, dysfunctional, dead soulmates kind of way.

He tells Callum this. Presses his lips together in mortification because he sounds tactless.

To his surprise, Callum laughs. It’s raspy and dry but it’s music to Ben’s ears.

He switches his phone on to put Callum’s number in. Walks him to the Vic. Smiles like he’s got a secret when Kathy comments he’s in a good mood.

Ben doesn’t make new friends. Not the kind of person who branches out. But he has.

It’s nice. So is Callum.

They’ve been texting. Callum uses lots of capital letters. Ben doesn’t find it endearing. Every so often they meet for a drink. Life typically gets in the way.

Jay got him a job at Coker’s once he confided that he couldn’t go back to the army. There’s a story there that Ben hasn’t heard yet.

He’s sat by the window in the café now, clicking off what seems to be a long phone call. Ben joins him, even though he should be at the car lot right now, passes him a Belgian bun.

Callum takes it gratefully. “My niece, wishing me a happy fourth of July.” He explains, “She moved to America a year ago.”

Ben hums, refrains from commenting how he’d want to be as far away as possible from Stuart too. Normally, he’d say it, revel in the scandalised _Ben_ he’d receive, but there’s something gripping Callum’s shoulders today.

It’s got him hunched and there’s dark circles around his eyes.

“You look horrible,” He says, finishing his coffee.

“Thanks.”

“Cal,” He reaches for his hand across the tabletop but stops a second before their fingertips touch. Callum doesn’t notice. “What’s wrong?”

Something next to the saltshaker piques his interest. Ben’s about to repeat himself when he bursts out with “Can you tell Jay I won’t be working today? Somewhere I gotta be.”

His mouth twists when he says it, like he didn’t mean to.

Ben nods as he gets up with purpose, left staring at the empty seat where Callum was sat.

That weird thought, the one asking him not to go, buzzes louder now. Ben thinks he’s said it aloud when he steps into view again.

“Can you come too?”

It’s a picnic bench. Callum’s fiddling with the hem of his sleeve and chewing his lip. Ben sits next to him but leaves a wide gap. When Callum gets like this, he needs space.

A woman with a child in tow arrives. Callum passes him a lollipop before he runs off to play by the flowerbed. She introduces herself as Vicky when she sits opposite them. Ben reckons she’s got kind eyes.

They speak to each other in undertones but when Ben decides he should leave them to it, Callum grabs onto the nearest corner of his leather jacket.

Ben stays. Course he does.

When Vicky leaves, Callum’s face crumples. He turns from Ben.

Ben wants to do something to help him, make him feel better the way he’s been made to feel better, but he’s more emotionally repressed than most so he settles for edging towards him.

Their thighs nearly touch and it’s Ben’s way of saying _I’m here_ and it might not do much but Callum puffs out a breath like he’s letting go of something aside from carbon dioxide.

“Chris. His name was Chris.”

Ben listens to Callum talk about his soulmate. It’s mesmerising.

Callum’s jaw clenches to stop himself from sobbing.

“You ever wish you guys didn’t meet at all?” _Or am I just an asshole for thinking like that?_

Callum turns to search his face.

“Sometimes. A lot in the beginning. But I’m glad I got to fall in love with him. He taught me to be a better person. Who I am now, at least who I try to be, I do it to keep him with me.”

Ben thinks it’s a nice sentiment.

Paul made him better too. Maybe if he lives every day being a credit to Paul, it won’t be so bad.

Callum makes it sound like it isn’t that bad.

Some of his days it isn’t.

But some days it _is._ Bad down to the depths of him. Bad where his core goes rotten. Bad like it’s festering around his heart until his blood is poisoned.

Today is bad. Worse than ever. Ben avoids everything. Everyone.

Snaps at Lexi.

Shoves past Lola.

Screams at Jay to leave him alone.

Screams at Paul to come back.

The doors to the Arches are closed. He’d lock them but he can’t find the keys. It’s dark in there.

So much has happened here. So much won’t ever happen here. Ben doesn’t believe in marriage. But he would have married Paul. Married him again and again and again to show the world how out of everyone, he got the best soulmate of them all.

But he _can’t._

Life is unfair.

Phil taught him that. Kathy too. But no one’s driven that lesson into his brain like Paul.

He needs to squint to see the _P_ on his ring finger. Soon, he’ll need to squint to see any of it.

He wrecks the garage.

The sunlight wakes him up. Someone steps in front of it so it doesn’t blind him.

He looks ethereal, which is a ridiculous way to describe a man, but he does.

Ben wants him gone.

He pushes himself up clumsily. Beer and insults on his tongue, he tries to send Callum away.

He darts forward and holds him by his elbows.

“Ben, we’re worried about you.”

It’s all anyone is.

“ _I’m_ worried about you.” His eyes scan his face with an urgency, trying to tell Ben more.

Ben lurches further in Callum’s grasp.

They’re close.

Callum’s eyes are a nice shade of blue. But maybe he already knew that.

His eyes fall to his lips.

They’re so close.

Callum tumbles backwards.

“I don’t want you worried about me! I want you gone! Always on my shoulder! So needy! I’m sick of ya!”

“Ben…”

“I said I want ya gone! Out of my sight!” _Out of my head._

He puts a finger to his bleeding lip, walking out, defeated.

Ben spends another week in the Arches, doors closed, lights off.

He gets angry sometimes.

At Ian for trying to stick his nose in. At Kathy for not letting him bring booze in the house. At Callum for causing thoughts that make him sweat with self-loathing.

At the face in the mirror because it’s not Callum’s fault he can’t help himself. A little bit of kindness and Ben’s falling over his feet for some intimacy.

It disgusts him.

He does what he’s always done. Pushes it away. Uses alcohol. Uses his fists. Uses men as unhappy as he is.

Doesn’t even let the stay the night afterwards.

Deserves to sleep alone, he thinks, as the gears in his brain turn. Wrinkled sheets and dishevelled hair and bruised lips and yet it does nothing to stop the thoughts.

Thoughts of Paul and soulmates and loss and, worst of all, thoughts of Callum.

It’s been a fortnight since he emerged from the Arches. Since he started trying to mend things with everyone he hurt. Almost everyone.

August making itself known with sweltering heat nobody can escape.

Except maybe Callum.

Jay tentatively mentions no one has seen him in a while. That Whitney and Stuart are worried.

He expects it’s his fault. But then again, Callum’s life doesn’t revolve around his.

Stuart walks into the car lot during their conversation.

He prepares himself for the berating but Stuart says with wide, pleading eyes. “He left a note saying he’s gone to Chris’ grave. Wants some space, he said. But I’m scared.”

Ben’s already grabbing the nearest set of car keys.

He sees him immediately. As if he wouldn’t. Some days he sees him when he’s not even there.

He’s standing with a bottle next to an oak tree.

Callum shifts a bit when Ben appears so they’re both standing opposite the headstone.

They’re silent while he finishes the lager. Lets it drop and roll toward the plaque. Puts his hands over his eyes.

Ben didn’t realise he’d been staring but he has because he notices that his ring finger is just about naked.

When his hands fall to his side, his eyes are brimming with tears and his shoulders droop. It’s the smallest he’s seen him.

“Three and a half years.” He chokes out. “That’s how long it takes for it to disappear.”

He sinks, rests his head against the trunk of the oak.

Doesn’t move away when Ben sits down too, the shoulder of his jacket skimming Callum’s.

“Your brother’s worried. And your friends.” He swallows his pride. “And me.”

A wry laugh rings out. “You wanted me gone.”

He wants to tell him he didn’t mean it. But Callum already knows. Something in his gut flips because there’s probably more that Callum knows. Things he’s not saying. That either of them aren’t saying.

Callum slides lower into the ground. His head level with Ben’s shoulder.

Everything Ben’s ever learnt tells him not to, but his body shifts towards him of its own accord.

Callum falls asleep, hair tickling his neck, hand splaying so his pinkie and ring finger touch Ben’s thigh.

He’s ignoring it, but something’s beginning to bloom every time Callum touches him. Opening up what’s seizing his lungs and making it easier for him to breathe.

Callum shuffles closer, his hand on Ben’s knee.

He stares at the almost invisible _Chris_.

Wants to _do_ something and make it all better, but he settles for this.

Callum’s even breaths dancing their way from Ben’s collarbone to his heart.

Stuart bear-hugs Ben when Callum’s back in their flat. Cries a bit while Ben wishes he were somewhere else. 

Ben doesn’t let Callum spend August on his own.

The school rush has him and Lola flustered. Lexi wants three different pairs of shoes and it’s Monday tomorrow. He placates her with promise of ice cream from the Minute Mart.

“Hello, stalker.” Callum smiles from the pasta aisle. It’s an inside joke from his incessant mothering last month. _They’ve got an inside joke._ The pit of Ben’s stomach swarms with butterflies.

He buys double chocolate chip and Neapolitan. Honey smiles at him.

Not sympathy anymore. Brighter than that. Like things are getting better.

Maybe they are.

There’s a crash from the back of the shop. Callum’s on the floor. Ben calls the ambulance. Thrusts his phone at Honey because he can’t speak. Can’t stand straight. Can’t breathe. He’s only got one thought and it’s not again. _Please, not again._

Ben wakes up next to a hospital bed when he feels a hand on top of his own.

Pools of tears form behind his eyes.

His are bluer under the synthetic light of the room.

“You’re okay.”

Callum’s hand squeezes his. “I am.” He promises.

Ben’s in clothes from last night. Lola brought him something to change into but using them would mean leaving Callum’s side. She also had a Get Well Soon! card from Lexi.

He helps Callum up and gives it to him.

“Lola says she used up all the blue paint to make this.”

Callum beams, “Well it is my favourite colour.”

“Yeah.” He meets his eyes. “Mine too.”

The doctor tells them he passed out from intense pain. Scar tissue sometimes doesn’t hurt until weeks, or in Callum’s case, months later. That when the nerve cells start to heal, it can cause problems.

She tells him to take it easy. That he shouldn’t be embarrassed to ask for help if he needs it. Callum chews the corner of his lip in disagreement.

“I’ll give your partner some leaflets with all the information you’ll need. Or you can always call 111.”

Ben waits for Callum to tell her they aren’t partners, the idea is absurd. Callum doesn’t say anything.

He invites him to dinner. “It’s the least I can do to say thank you.” He watches Ben flounder for excuses, smile playing on his face. “Stuart’s gone away for the week with Rainie.”

It’s great food. Chicken Pasta. Tells him the secret is to use more thyme than basil. Ben probably won’t remember that. But it’s Callum. So he might.

He’s got a beer bottle balanced on his lap. Callum comes to sit next to him on the sofa. He pulls Ben’s hands apart.

He was picking at his tattoo without meaning to.

“He’s always gonna be with you.”

If it were anyone else, Ben would have snapped because how could they possibly know, but Callum knows.

He lets Callum rest his thumb on the vanishing ink. “Paul.” He whispers. Probably for the first time out loud to another person. “He used to live here.”

Callum’s breathing falters. “I didn’t realise–”

“Why should ya?” He turns his head, and there’s not much distance between them. _Why should you? Why should I want you to?_

There’s something. Some answer to Ben’s questions and his hairs are standing on end because he’s almost certain Callum has it.

He can tell with the way he’s looking at him. Holding his hand like it’s made of gold. The air thick and saturated with what Ben doesn’t think he’s allowed to have.

And it’s unavoidable. This incessant pining that starts at Ben’s stomach and ends with him wanting to occupy the same space as him.

So he leans in.

Feels the fingers wrapped around his wrist stutter when he whispers _Ben_ and watches his eyes shift to navy and drop to his mouth.

Lips tingling and maybe Callum’s are too.

Lungs squeezing because he won’t be able to breathe until he finds out.

And then –

His body calls out in protest when he shoots up, rushes off rambling about needing to tuck Lexi in.

It’s Halloween. Lola’s dragged him to E20’s theme night. He’s got fangs in his mouth.

Callum and Whitney laugh about something at the bar. He’s got angel wings on.

Lola calls out to them. He smiles and tilts his head at Ben. He smiles back. He always does.

They find a booth and fall into easy conversation. It’s never awkward with Callum despite Ben’s determination to pretend his pounding heart means nothing.

The night goes on.

Their hands brush more than once. Ben’s not keeping count. Lola jokes that they should dance. They find themselves playing a game with shots of tequila.

They all end up drunk, in a good way.

Ben spits his fangs out, someone trips over them. Callum cries with laughter. He lost his wings ages ago.

The night keeps going on.

A song plays. Whitney whips her head to find Callum, face tightened in concern, and Ben’s paying for another round but he spots it.

He tries to find him through the crowds but he’s gone. He needs air himself.

Callum’s leaning on the wall outside, where Ben expects him to be. “That song.” He sighs.

He takes him home underneath the night sky.

Callum tries to hold himself up, but Ben’s ready to do that for him.

He brings him a glass of water.

Watches him kick his shoes off, slump to the floor. Ben follows suit.

They sit with their arms pressed together, Callum’s legs straightened in front of him, Ben’s bent with his knees up.

The night’s not quite over.

“What are we doing, Ben?” It’s barely audible.

His heart catches in his throat because Callum’s eyes are earnest when Ben looks into them. And beautiful.

 _That’s the problem,_ Ben wants to say, _I don’t know what I’m doing when I’m with you._

Callum’s breath brushes over Ben’s lips.

It’s warm.

Warm enough to set Ben on fire if he gives in.

It’s not just Callum’s eyes that are beautiful.

It’s the scars on his forehead. The freckles by his eyes. The dips of his dimples.

Ben hears his pulse beating in his ears.

He opens his mouth to say something but the space between them is already dense and thronging and taut with some kind of pull that’s making Ben get closer. Making Callum get closer.

Glass of water forgotten somewhere by Ben’s legs.

Callum’s lips lean in so they can slot perfectly in between his.

He closes his eyes.

Lets them fit like pieces of a puzzle made of stained glass, fragile and ready to break but, _god,_ do the hues merge in enchanting technicolour.

 _He’s kissing Callum._ He’s kissing Callum and it’s soft, electric, _perfect._

Every inch of his mouth comes alive, an inferno ripping into his body, from his body.

He gasps. Cradles his face. Falls into him as much as he can.

Drinks his lips in so he might get some of what makes Callum so good and let it live inside him permanently.

Callum’s hands surrounding his neck, tugging him closer. Closer until Ben’s got a leg on his lap. Hands on his back. Closer until Ben’s straddling him. On his waist. Closer until their chests are pressing together. Breathing together. Beating together.

His head dizzies with the sound of their lips smacking against each other. Sighs and pants and moans when they don’t stay in the back of Ben’s throat.

Ben keeps edging forward for more, more, more. Callum’s legs come up, his knees hitting Ben’s back, pinning him in place.

Ben’s grabbing fistfuls of the front of his shirt now, before all of this can disappear, mouth never leaving his.

Callum’s fingers trail up and down Ben’s body and everywhere he touches comes to life.

His skin calling out for Callum as soon as his hands move to another part of him.

Even the atoms on Ben’s lips cry with a _yes, this is what you were born to do._

But Ben already knows what he was born to do. And it is inked on his ring finger. And it’s not even gone yet and here he is, helping Callum shrug his jacket off and throw it aside.

The thought paralyses him.

“Ben?” Callum whispers, chasing his lips. His name sounds right in his mouth.

He pushes himself off Callum and sits back next to him, a puddle forming by his feet where he knocked the glass over.

He digs his hands into his eyes.

This isn’t love. It’s hardly attraction. It’s two lonely people finding comfort in each other because the world is cold to them now. This is wrong. Unnatural. It’s not the name on his finger.

“I can’t.” He croaks.

The night ends.

He walks home, the piercing wind encircling him, streets abyssal like he’s left a piece of him in Callum’s flat.

He wonders if they can ever go back from this.

November’s lonely.

They still see each other. Hang out in the presence of Jay, or Lola, or Whitney. Smile and joke and talk like their hearts aren’t impossibly connected, breaking each time they part ways.

He’s back to nameless faces and empty kisses and so much alcohol he’s never not hungover.

Anything to forget what Callum feels like.

He decides to go to Bristol. There’s a car auction going on. It’s a useless trip and he knows it but maybe that’s what he needs.

Lola hugs him tightly, even though it’s only one weekend.

His hotel is opposite a tattoo shop. His own is pale and hard to make out.

He’s losing so much without even realising.

Ben sits on his balcony. Watches people go past. Soulmates go past. He thinks he belongs here, on the outskirts of life, the outskirts of love.

The woman who owns the tattoo shop is friendly. Says her name is Caren with a C. She tells Ben about a beach, a ten minute walk away, all rocky and always windy this time of year so he’ll get time alone.

Ben’s had enough time alone to last him a lifetime.

The sand is cool between his toes. It’s comforting. He lays down in it. There isn’t much on this beach, Caren was right, but it’s enough.

Ben’s never needed a lot.

He closes his eyes. Next month will be three and a half years. It will be gone.

So will a part of Ben.

He dozes off. Dreams about blue eyes instead of brown ones. Wakes up confused.

Caren makes him tea before he leaves, asks him to sit with her a while.

“Mira, meet Ben.”

A woman in overalls comes in, Ben recognises her from the auction. She gives Caren a kiss on the cheek, nods at Ben, before heading upstairs.

Caren plays with some tattoo designs on the table between them. Ben catches sight of her ring finger. _Sheila._

She clears her throat and Ben snaps his eyes away.

She smiles. “I don’t know Sheila,” she says simply. “Maybe I’ll never meet her.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Why would it? I’m happy. Mira makes me happy.”

“But she’s not your soulmate.” He hopes he’s not being rude.

“Not in the way she’s supposed to be. But I’m in love with her. And she’s in love with me. That’s enough.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “We are more than the ink on our skin. If we want to be. I _made_ her my soulmate, for all the reasons except her name matching my tattoo. We get to choose our happiness.”

Ben’s not sure she’s got a point.

“I’ve already had happiness.” He mumbles.

“You can get it again. Way I see it, we have two soulmates.”

Ben furrows his brow. _Two_ soulmates?

“One that’s been decided for us,” Sheila’s name glints in the light, “And one we decide for ourselves. The soulmate we choose.”

The drive back from Bristol gives Ben time to think.

He goes online. Finds people happy and in love with someone whose first name is different to the one on their finger. They’re few and far between. But they exist.

There are even a few stories about people’s tattoos changing after some time. People with vanished tattoos having a new name appear. People inking someone else’s name onto their skin in rebellion.

It doesn’t change anything. Ben’s missed his chance. But the fact that he isn’t alone in his feelings, (and it _is_ feelings, he can’t pretend anymore), feelings for someone who isn’t Paul, that there’s others like him – it makes it easier.

He stops drinking and picking up guys like his life depends on it.

Things get better.

Conversation with Callum is sometimes uncomfortable. There’s tension and maybe it’s charged with something but probably it’s just stilted.

Nevertheless, he tries his best to be normal around him. To push anything that isn’t friends about them to the back of his head because they were good before he complicated things.

Callum must get it, because he goes back to just friends too, and it’s weird because they’re dancing around something that Ben’s not even sure they have anymore.

It’s for the best, but his heart beats uneasy all the same.

November’s still lonely. But a loneliness he can live with.

On the first day of December, Ben walks downstairs bleary eyed in boxers and a dressing gown.

Callum’s standing by the sofa.

He stares at Ben a while. Then he spins on his heels.

Ben tears his eyes away from the flush on his neck. Ties his gown.

“It’s gonna be hard this month. You, uh,” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt when he’s turned back around, his fingers blank, “You don’t have to be alone.”

“Okay, _stalker._ ” Callum’s lips quirk up, blush creeping back.

It snows a week before Christmas. Some days have been awful.

Ben’s been a wailing mess on the floor of Callum’s bedroom. Or he’s been stoic and unfeeling in the car lot, not even acknowledging Callum sitting beside him.

Most days have been better though.

He talks about Paul. Tells Lexi about a wonderful, curly haired man he was lucky enough to call his soulmate.

He buys things he thinks Paul would like. Wears clothes with him in mind. Lives his days being a credit to Paul, like Callum tried to tell him to do all those months ago.

Callum’s here now, as they walk down the streets of London, last minute Christmas shopping.

He’s the one who spots it snowing.

He tells him Chris loved snow. Ben thinks love is funny. It’s straightforward with weather and involuted with people.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Eggnog.” Ben responds, tilting his chin to a market selling it.

Ben doesn’t even like eggnog, but he knows Callum does. They sit on a bench to drink it, knees knocking together, The Pogues playing in the background.

Ben hasn’t felt excited about Christmas in a long time. He thanks Callum for it, in a faint voice, between sips.

He doesn’t think he’s heard it until his ankle bumps into Ben’s. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was a thank you back.

They laugh when a drunk Santa flirts with Callum. Ben’s is more forced.

Callum, because he’s kind and good and _Callum_ , spends Christmas morning with the Beale-Pearce-Mitchells.

He helps with the Christmas tree. Kisses Kathy’s cheek under the mistletoe. Sings Fairytale of New York in the Vic.

His singing sounds so terrible it’s good.

Ben pays no attention to the voice saying he’s singing it for him. But maybe he should.

Mick waves him off when he goes to pay for his round. “On me.”

Ben’s about to ask why but then Callum reads out the joke in his Christmas cracker, his laugh resonating through the pub and pinging straight into Ben’s chest and once he’s dragged his eyes away from the grin on Callum’s lips, Mick’s serving someone else.

He walks Callum to his flat after drinks.

Laughs because he’s going to have to sit through Christmas dinner with Stuart and Rainie.

“At least baby Abi’s gonna be there. Bring up the IQ of the room.”

Callum chuckles, nudges him with his shoulder.

There’s mistletoe above the doorway. It’s very inappropriate for a funeral parlour, Callum tells Ben. It would be more inappropriate to kiss, Ben tells Callum.

He keeps his hands in his pockets when Callum presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Squeezes them into fists when he stops a fraction from his lips, noses brushing, whispers _Merry Christmas, Ben._ If Ben were braver, he’d get on his tiptoes. Close the gap. He wants to.

He turns on his feet to head home. He wonders if Callum’s also fighting to stop himself from looking back.

He’s distracted all through his turkey and roast potatoes.

“I forgot this! Can I go give it to Callum tomorrow?” It’s a small brown bag, a bow glued on top, and a Seasons Greetings card she made herself.

“Oh Callum’s a lovely boy, ain’t he?” Kathy rambles, vodka and Lexi’s giggles spurring her on. He thinks about how he kissed her cheek under the mistletoe. How he kissed his cheek too.

Wonders if Callum thinks of Ben as platonically as Kathy. Shivers at the thought when she clinks her wine glass with Ian’s. Makes sense, though. He had a chance, and he ran from it ( _twice,_ his conscience supplies), and Callum owes him nothing.

It makes something in his ribcage squirm. Still, it’s not the worst thing in the world. He’s got a friend, he concludes.

The conclusion doesn’t stop him spending the night with fingertips ghosting the side of his lips, questioning what it means to him. Goosebumps because he probably already knows.

He wakes up with the feeling of Callum’s mouth on him. Hopes it never goes.

Lexi got Callum a bag of lollipops for Christmas. He got her a bag too.

Ben thinks he should have got Callum something as well. But nothing he could make or buy would ever be enough. He wishes he could tell him that.

It’s a couple days to January. Lola suggests a New Year’s party.

“You and Callum could kiss at midnight.”

“We’re just friends, Lo.”

“Who make gooey eyes at each other every chance they get.”

“Leave off.”

“What? You like him, he likes you. Why don’t ya,” she waggles her eyebrows, “start the new year with a bang?”

Ben groans.

_10, 9, 8_

Ben’s been preoccupied serving canapes and restocking on the alcohol and cleaning up the mess Will left on the kitchen floor. He’s not had the chance to make gooey eyes at anyone.

Maybe that was the point.

Nausea hits him as the countdown begins. He’s going to start the new year with a cold, he thinks grimly.

He steps outside the Beale kitchen for some fresh air.

It’s a small world in between the front gate and the kitchen door. Only for Ben. Well, maybe not only Ben.

_7, 6, 5_

The door opens.

“Thought you’d be here.”

“What you outside for?” He sounds out of breath because he’s been Lola’s personal slave for the day, not because of anything she might have said.

“Wanted to check you were okay.”

_4, 3, 2_

“Why you so bothered about me?” He teases, smiling up to his eyes like he hasn’t in a long time.

“Why do you think?”

Ben’s breath hitches. Wonders if it’s possible to let him go a third time. The bottom of his feet burn as he rises to his tiptoes.

_1_

His head tilts up, eyes closed, and Callum’s lips are gentle. They always are.

They press for a moment but it’s all Ben needs to see colour when he opens his eyes again.

Everything becomes bold and bright and beautiful but especially the blues of Callum’s eyes.

They dart from his lips to his eyes, asking a question.

Ben answers it by grasping the front of his shirt, surging forward when Callum’s hands frame his face.

It’s everything.

When they kiss, it’s not like Halloween. It’s not desperate and hungry because it’ll never happen again. It’s desperate and hungry in spite of the fact that it will.

Then it slows. Becomes deliberate. Immersing themselves into the other and Ben’s on fire. There’s no burn. Just a warmth he thinks he can get used to.

He’s pushed against the door leading into the kitchen. Heart soaring as Callum sucks on his bottom lip. Ribcage thumping at every kiss Callum peppers from his mouth to his neck. Ben’s heart hammering rhythmically, _finally, finally, finally._

He has to cover his mouth with a fist when the cold of his teeth touch his throat. His other hand threads through the hair on the back of his head while he sucks and bites and tongues the sweet spot Ben didn’t know he had.

Ben attempts to muffle his groans. Tries not to want this too much but he’s already panting, tight jeans against his mother’s kitchen door.

Callum’s eyes are dark when he pulls away, clutching Ben’s waist, and he grips harder when Ben tugs on his hair, moan spilling out his now swollen lips and it’s probably the only sound in the world that could have Ben weak at the knees in an instant.

The universe stops turning, just for a second, just for Ben and Callum.

_Happy New Year!_

“Happy New Year.” He exhales.

Callum laughs, breathless and giddy. Kisses the love bite he’s left on Ben before saying it back.

And that’s what it is, Ben realises as Callum’s breath brushes over it, it’s a love bite because this is love. Or maybe not. But it could be.

He wants to find out if it could be.

He links their fingers together, bringing their hands up, the _Paul_ completely gone. But he’s here, in the thrill of this moment, and maybe Ben’s imagined it but he can hear him give his blessing.

_I think I want to fall in love with you._

He searches Callum’s eyes.

_I think I already have._

He finds in them.

Dennis curses Ben over party chat, having lost the third game in a row. Then he grumbles because Sharon’s telling him to get off the damn console _._

He takes his headphones off and stretches on the sofa, legs dangling off the armrest, brushing the crumbs off his shirt from the leftover birthday cake they’re still finishing off from last week.

Callum trudges in, huffing. He pulls his coat off with excessive force.

“Tough day, officer?”

There’s always a fondness in his voice when he speaks to him.

Callum grunts in affirmation, falling on top of Ben.

It brings a surprised laugh out of Ben’s chest.

“M’ I crushing you?”

Ben shakes his head, bringing a hand up to play with his hair. The other hand traces shapes on his arm.

“Sorry, I must stink. _And_ I look a mess.” He whines, chin on Ben’s shoulder.

“You smell amazing. And you look amazing an’ all.”

Callum chuckles into the crook Ben’s neck.

“Why can’t my boss be as nice as you?”

“Probably cos you ain’t sucked the soul out his dick.”

Callum laughs again, and it thrums into Ben’s body. He brings his arms around Ben’s waist and hugs him.

“I love you.” He breathes into Ben’s skin.

Ben’s fingers halt between the strands of Callum’s hair.

He meant to say something else. _What did I do to deserve you, eh?_ or something just as non-committal.

Callum’s lips part by his throat, maybe he’s going to apologise or defend himself. But no sound comes out.

It’s up to Ben now.

He moves his head to look Callum in the eyes.

The words hover in the air between them, consecrating it, and what Ben says will be preserved alongside them.

“Are you sure?” He asks under his breath, so he doesn’t have to hear an answer he doesn’t want to.

As if Callum doesn’t know exactly what to say to weed out the ugly insecurities planted in Ben’s head.

“More than anything. For so long.”

“How long?”

“Always, I think. At least ever since you had a go at me at the funeral parlour.”

Ben can’t help but grin, can’t even muster up the energy to be embarrassed at the memory. Instead, he rests his forehead against this amazing, blue eyed man who loves him.

“Me too.”

Callum scatters the side of his face with kisses. Smiling too wide to be called kisses. Says _I love you_ after each one until it’s etched onto Ben’s body forever.

He sometimes thinks he can see the words on his skin.

Maybe they were always there.

There’s nothing spectacular about today.

It’s in the middle of the night, or early morning, or somewhere in between, and the smell of sweat from a session of getting the soul sucked out his dick hangs in the air.

Callum’s asleep, if the rise and fall of his chest is anything to go by, and quiet snores escape him. He’ll deny he snores when he’s awake, of course, and Ben would grab his phone from the bedside table to film evidence if he wasn’t so afraid of ruining this moment.

This picture perfect freeze frame that is Callum.

No one’s ever been so drop dead gorgeous. All the features on his face carved and moulded for Ben to fall head over heels for. He could live the rest of his life just staring.

He runs the back of his fingers across the contours from his forehead to his chin. Lets this feeling, this crazy feeling that both calms him and sends his nerve endings ablaze, consume him.

His heart pulses against his chest, each echo as if it’s begging to be let out his ribcage and plunged into Callum’s, so loud in its yearning that it vibrates throughout Walford.

Sends ripples that bound into the Vic, the caff, the Minute Mart, the car lot, the playground, the funeral parlour, and Ben could go on and on with all the places that are now forever altered in their geography because he’s got memories there with _Callum._

Callum, who is the reply to every question Ben’s ever asked, every cry he’s ever called out, every gut wrenching sob and belly aching laugh and the answer to the only problem Ben’s ever really needed to solve. _Where’s my place?_

And without even meaning to, Callum’s eyes sparkle with _Here, next to me_ each time. 

And it has to be, doesn’t it? Else why would their fingers intertwine so seamlessly? Why would their mouths meet so naturally? Why would their legs tangle under the bedsheets like the other’s skin provides the only comfort they need to survive? Why, why, _why._

And Ben knows why.

“You’re the love of my life.”

He whispers it into the silence of the room.

Nothing changes.

Saying it out loud hasn’t ruptured the time space continuum or stopped the Earth spinning on its axis.

Because it has always been true.

And he dozes off so he won’t remember this split second of clarity, this singular moment of truth amongst the hazy, complicated emotions of love, but if he listens to the drum of his heart, he’ll realise that he was born for this. Borne from the same dying stars as Callum for one reason. The solely important reason that is this notion of belonging, of _home,_ that he thought he could never have.

But he does have it, and the proof of that is in the way he falls asleep in Callum’s arms.

“Morning.”

Callum cracks a smile, eyelids half closed, and Ben thinks there’s no one luckier than he is because who else gets to see Callum like this?

Unguarded and unashamed of it because he trusts Ben. He _loves_ Ben.

And he rasps out a “What you staring at?” with affection rolling off his tongue and bursting at the seams with adoration that hits Ben square in the chest and it would be ludicrous of Ben not to let him know how he feels.

“I’m in love with you.” He blurts out, not half as smoothly as he’d anticipated.

Not that it matters because Callum’s glowing at Ben’s words and this moment’s glowing too.

Glowing and glittering and golden like all the stars in the cosmos have found a way into Callum’s eyes and they’re dancing because Ben loves Callum and Callum loves Ben and everything is alright again.

“Suits ya.” Jay observes, when Callum’s at the bar.

“Eh?”

“Being in love.”

He simply smiles into the pint Callum’s brought back, rubbing a hand over his thigh, hoping he never has to hurt it with a bottle again.

Callum’s hand rests on his back as he tells Jay why Manuel Lanzini cost them the cup this season. Looks at him like he hung the moon.

It does suit him.

Valentine’s Day still sucks. It’s been five years for Callum. It will be five for Ben soon too.

They don’t participate in heart shaped anythings.

But there’s smiles in the mornings. Secrets exchanged underneath sheets. Promises murmured between skin. Lips on lips that don’t belong anywhere else because Ben’s finally found something again.

Callum runs out the door of their house, struggling with his tie when he’s late the third day in a row and he’s going to have to sleep on their sofa from now on because his self-control is sorely lacking when it comes to Ben.

Ben puts away their dirty dishes, biting back a smile when he sees a post it note stuck on the side of their sink with an awful sketch of what he assumes is a love heart. (Okay, so one heart shaped thing.)

The door opens. Callum’s still wrestling with his tie.

“Forgot something.”

“Your phone again? I swear I’m gonna superglue that thing to your –”

He leans in to press his lips against Ben’s. And again because once will never be enough.

“Love you.” He’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.

“Love you too.”

And it throws him sometimes because it took him so long to work out that it’s easy to love Callum. Effortless, like it was always meant to happen. And it was, even if they don’t know it.

There’s an itching on his ring finger.

It’s different to when the tattoo was fading. It’s not a prickling sensation. Like something abandoning his body or stealing a part of him.

No.

This is like something growing. Something new. Something promising.

Maybe this time next year a new name will have found its way onto Ben’s skin. Maybe he’ll ask Caren to ink it herself. Maybe it will stay blank.

But it’s not a word on a finger that matters.

Because in the depths of him, he knows he’ll have this next Valentine’s too.

Callum’s cheeky smile before he heads out their door, winking at Ben with both eyes, finally twisting his tie up.

Ben has this now. And he’ll have it every day from now.

Because Callum’s name may never have been on his skin, but it’s engraved onto Ben’s heart and he hears it every time it beats.

And how fortunate is Ben, to have found his soulmate, without even looking?

A soulmate he chose. A soulmate who chose him.

_soulmate (noun)_

/ˈsəʊlmeɪt/

_Two individuals who have become perfect for and irreplaceable to each other_

**Author's Note:**

> look, i'm 100% on the Ballum are soulmates train but I just thought it was a cool idea
> 
> thank you so so so much for reading even though it's so long, it sounds so generic but it really really does mean the world xxx
> 
> lots of love, stay safe, and don't give little children lollipops <3


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